


sweet treats

by thinkofaugust



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, and if Philippe can't own a bath big enough for two...there is no hope, monchevy gossip like you don't know what, that's a tag? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 17:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13551951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkofaugust/pseuds/thinkofaugust
Summary: " The Chevalier smirked, affection warming him far more than the tepid bath water could, and remarked. ‘I will say this: I do not know much of Madame de Montespan [...] but the first time we spoke she was devouring an entire plate of macarons. I fear if she is similarly indulgent tonight, there will be none left for me to enjoy, and you know how much I was looking forward to them.’ "Philippe and the Chevalier are supposed to be attending the King's party. Instead, they're sharing a bath and gossiping about his mistresses. As you do.





	sweet treats

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to fill the 'non-sexual act of intimacy: Taking a bath together' Tumblr prompt. And is basically an excuse for me to write meaningless fluff...which doesn't happen often. I'm not sure how my brain managed to mash 'baths' 'macarons' and 'mistresses' together - I'm pretty sure there's only one scene where Montespan eats macarons, but we all know how the Chevalier overreacts! Also, 'bathing' is a tag? How many people are writing about baths?
> 
> Alright. That's all. Enjoy. x

There was a celebration taking place downstairs; the nobles had flocked to the gardens at the promise of debauchery, and the Duc d'Orleans had been expected to join them half an hour ago. But when Philippe pointed this out, the Chevalier could only laugh, throwing his head back and tossing his curls over the edge of the bath, lest they get wet.

The bath was too small to fit the both of them comfortably but that did not stop them from trying. Philippe's left leg was draped over one side, droplets of water carelessly dripping onto the floor, and his right foot was nestled in a minuscule gap between the edge of the bath and the Chevalier’s ribcage. The water was rapidly losing its heat, the candles were almost completely burnt down, and yet, neither found themselves in any hurry to leave. This was, rather uncharacteristically, the first time the Chevalier had managed to get Phillipe conscious and alone this week; he was determined to savour it. 

‘I doubt anyone will be missing us yet.’ The Chevalier said, shuffling down as though he could nestle into the water in the same way he would a blanket.

Philippe hummed. His head was resting against the rim of the bath; strands of his dark hair clung to his damp chest in such a way that the Chevalier could not help but stare in admiration. ‘No, I suppose not. I told my brother I would be there, but he is so occupied with his new mistress as of late that I would be surprised if he has noticed my absence at all.’

‘A new mistress?’ The Chevalier asked, although he already knew the answer. The whole court knew the King had a new favourite; not a single one of them had been told by him.

‘Mhm. Madame...oh...Madame de Montespan. I can never keep up. Louis goes through mistresses as quickly as I do shoes; only one of us is berated for the frivolity.’

‘You are both equally dedicated to the pursuit of beauty, my dear.’ The Chevalier replied fondly. ‘Your taste in shoes is impeccable and, you know, they say that Montespan is Venus personified if such a wondrous title could ever be bestowed on a mere mortal.’

If it could, the Chevalier thought, it should be bestowed on Philippe.

‘Do they now?’ His forehead furrowed, nose wrinkling in distaste. ‘I suppose she is if one likes that kind of thing.’

‘What? Brunettes?’ The Chevalier asked innocently, fully aware that the colour of her hair was the very least of Philippe's concerns. ‘I am quite fond actually, but you knew that.’

Philippe rolled his eyes but there was no mistaking the blush that spread across his cheeks. 

The Chevalier smirked, affection warming him far more than the tepid bath water could, and remarked. ‘I will say this: I do not know much of Madame de Montespan, aside from her reputation, which preceded her, as it so often does with ladies of her nature, but the first time we spoke she was devouring an entire plate of macarons. I fear if she is similarly indulgent tonight, there will be none left for me to enjoy, and you know how much I was looking forward to them.’

In truth, the Chevalier could have asked for a countless number of macarons to be brought to his bedside at any hour and he knew it, he did not need to wait for a celebration; Philippe humoured him regardless. ‘Well, if you want to rush down and protect them from her eager fingers, I will not stop you.’

The Chevalier merely scoffed in reply. Such an act would first require him to leave the bath, and the way Phillippe was playfully caressing his side with the edge of his foot was not inspiring him to do any such thing.

‘But,’ Philippe continued, squirming slightly as the Chevalier tickled his toes under the water. ‘I would not worry about your sweet treats yet. If I know my brother-’

‘Which you do.’

‘Which I do, as much as he denies it, he will have ensured the banquet tables are overflowing with enough macarons to feed the entirety of France twice over. He does not show his affection by halves.’

That was something, the Chevalier thought, the two brothers had in common. But he was no more likely to point that out than the King was to accept the similarity. He settled for snorting in disbelief. ‘I reckon she would devour them still. She has a far more...decadent palette than...than...what was the name of his last mistress again?’

‘Oh...Madame de La Vallière. Louise, I think.’

‘Ah! That is the one! I forget names so easily nowadays. There are so many new people about that I cannot keep up.’

Philippe nudged him with his foot again. ‘You have known her for years, you spoke to her last week. She was crying-’

‘Of course, she was. She has become such a simpering, little thing, has she not?’

‘A better word might be “pious?” He suggested though he did not entirely disagree. Madame de La Vallière had become increasingly melancholy as of late. But then, they all had. There was something in the air, celebration aside.

‘Simpering. Pious. Is there a difference?’

Philippe tried to give him a disapproving look, but the corners of his mouth were already twitching with the tell-tale signs of amusement. 

The Chevalier prodded further. ‘If sharing a bed with the King of France continues to turn women into sniffling nuns, the court will soon be void of all female company, while the convents overflow with Sisters who are well educated in the art of getting on one’s knees but have an entirely different understanding of what it is to worship.’

He surrendered, letting out a low laugh that made the Chevalier’s heart swell. ‘I see it now. A whole congregation more apt at finishing a man than finishing with “amen”. The Almighty would weep.’

‘Or rejoice. His usually virginal wives would have finally learnt how to do more with their mouths than pray.'

‘If that means what I think it means-’

‘That depends on what you think I mean.'

He smirked. ‘I know you too well, my love. Although I imagine Madame de La Vallière knows that particular skill well, as does Madame de Montespan.’

‘Then she would do well to practice it!’ The Chevalier retorted haughtily. ‘If only so she would stop eating my macarons.’

The smirk grew until Philippe found himself distracted by the act of prying his damp hair off his skin and throwing it back over his shoulder. This, the Chevalier knew from their many years together, was the first sign that he was tiring of his bath. Soon he would rise, dress, and descend to join the festivities. They would, of course, end the night intoxicated and in each other's arms, but while the thought was as inviting as always, the Chevalier found he wanted to revel in this moment of peace for a little while longer.

‘But, tell me,’ He said, stretching his left leg out uncomfortably, toes peeking above the water. The bath really was too small. ‘What do you think of Montespan?' 

Philippe thought this over for a moment, then shrugged. ‘She has wit, and beauty, of course. No one could deny that. Though I wonder how much of that is down to her impeccable wardrobe. Her taste in fashion is as decadent as her taste in food. I saw her in the Salon the other night. She was showing her companions the most beautiful blue gown, all embellished with pearls. I think she is wearing it tonight.’

‘Paid for by your brother, no doubt.’

‘Almost certainly. Still, I was rather jealous of it. I was embarrassingly close to asking where she had purchased it and then-’

‘You realised you would look ten times more sublime in it than her and could not bear the thought of showing her up in front of her companions? How thoughtful of you, Mignonette.’

Philippe smiled mischievously. ‘Actually, I realised I already owned one just like it.’

It was the Chevalier’s turn to laugh. The sound faded into a reluctant sigh as Philippe tilted his head from side to side in a stretch - another sign - and, with one hand grasping the edge for support, pushed himself to his feet. He swung one leg over the side, then the other, climbing out of the bath with a grace most men would envy. Water dripped across the floor as he walked but Philippe made no effort to find a towel. The Chevalier had no complaints. He lingered in the bath, admiring the width of Philippe’s bare shoulders, the curve of his back, the tilt of his hips until the object of his affection turned to face him and caught his mouth in a kiss. The Chevalier smiled, winding his fingers in the damp hair at the nape of Philippe's neck

‘Help me to dress?’ Philippe murmured a moment later.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘In what?’

'I have not decided yet.’

‘What about that blue dress, hm? Show Montespan how it is done.’

Philippe smirked and untangled the Chevalier’s fingers from his hair with another kiss, pulling away slowly in an attempt to draw the Chevalier from the comfort of the bath. It was an old trick, and it worked every time.

‘I have no quarrel with Montespan,’ He said as the Chevalier forced himself to his feet. ‘Not yet anyway.’

‘I do. She ate the-’

‘Macarons, yes. I gathered,’ Philippe replied amusedly, running his fingers through the length of his hair in an attempt to smooth it. ‘That is still no reason to purposefully show her up at a celebration the King has probably thrown in her honour - now I think of it.’

‘Ah, yes. That could be seen as poor taste,’ The Chevalier closed the space between them, wrapping an arm around Philippe’s waist. ‘But is that going to stop you?’

He smirked, a light flush spreading across his cheeks again. ‘Of course not,’ He pursed his lips in thought, picturing the outcome. ‘Alright, the blue it is. Will you lace me in?’

The Chevalier smiled affectionately and rested his chin on Philippe’s shoulder. ‘My dear, need you ask?’

‘It is complex-’

‘The best garments always are.’

‘And I will have to do my hair-’

‘Naturally. You cannot possibly go with it like this. It is wet, for starters.’

‘So, we will be late.’ Philippe finished.

He shrugged. ‘We already are. What is another hour or so? They will not miss us...though I will miss the macarons. Montespan will have gotten her jewelled hands on them by then.' 

Philippe smiled. ‘Well, considering I am about to outshine her in front of everyone, I think she deserves a macaron, or two, or three dozen. It is only common courtesy.'

The Chevalier sighed in defeat. 'I suppose so...and, in truth, I have no need for macarons. You are the only sweet treat I need.'

His nose wrinkled. 'That was positively saccharine.'

'Ah, Mignonette, but that is just how you like it.'

Phillipe could only chuckle; he twisted in the Chevalier’s grasp, pressing their lips together again. They were definitely going to be late.


End file.
